


Agents of Morila

by p0cketw0tch



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0cketw0tch/pseuds/p0cketw0tch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons-centric Agents of SHIELD medieval fantasy AU. Inspired by Tamora Pierce's Song of the Lioness Series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Jemma trembled with uncertainty as she stared at the paper and quill before her. She clutched a love-worn grey bunny to her lap, and the neckline of her nightgown was clenched in her teeth. At the mature age of ten, Jemma knew that she was too old for a stuffed animal and that a lady should certainly never chew on her clothing, but she felt that in these circumstances she deserved the comfort. She was, after all, facing the biggest decision of her young life.

Mother and Father had sent her here to Torleen, the capital city of the Kingdom of Morila, four months ago. Attached to the palace was a school to which nobles from all over the kingdom could send their daughters. Here they could gain a lady’s education amongst their own peers and make the connections that would be important for their future husband and husbands’ lands.

She had begged her parents to instead allow her to apply the Morila Mages’ University on the other side of the Capital. Traditionally, only men were accepted into the ranks of the university academics, but the school had been known to make exceptions for girls who were particularly gifted and backed by a family of sufficient wealth. Admittedly, this had not happened in the last thirty years, but Jemma knew she could pass the tests and there was just so much she wanted to  _learn._

Her parents loved her dearly, but they didn’t listen to her.  _No one_  ever listened to little girls. Jemma’s mind was always racing, always filled with new ideas. She wanted to explore the wonders of the universe, to learn what made everything move. She dreamed of becoming a ranking mage and joining in with the scholars as they discussed the wonders of the universe and crafted marvelous spells. She was slowly going mad here at the palace. The other girls were nice, and she enjoyed having friends her own age, but the classes were dull and full of things she already knew. Reading and writing classes mostly involved teaching the basics to those who had not yet learned and calligraphy for those who already had. The older classes all learned how to compose letters and invitations to their fellow gentry: the proper address for a duke, how to send a proper thank you note to a baron, the right way to word an invitation to a minor title.  Jemma enjoyed music and history classes, but the magic classes only taught spells that were considered acceptable for a young woman such as small party tricks or spells to fix hair. There was no science, little math, and no literature that she could consider interesting.

Even worse, every Sunday the girls were allowed to travel to the city gardens together. There, Jemma occasionally saw the older students from the University. The younger adepts were not allowed out of the University walls, but the Journeymen were given a bit more freedom. Often the students would be studying even as they enjoyed their day off. She caught tantalizing glimpses of complex runic equations and maps of the stars. Once, she even saw a beautiful drawing of the inside of a beaver; each muscle and bone was intimately detailed and labeled.

The idea had come to Jemma a week ago. Mistress Belia had been teaching about the kingdom’s long-held trade agreement with the southern kingdom of Lumoi, but Jemma had read about the treaties years ago in far more detail. Bored, Jemma had begun to play with her quill, trying to mimic the writing of those around her. She had been writing a silly note in the Headmistress’ distinct swirls as-seen on a note on the door- when the Headmistress herself had come in, asking for the young Lady Debrah de Viya. Debrah’s father had died and the family was requesting that she be sent home.

The thought had brewed in her head all that evening. The Simmons was old but their lands were far from the capital. There was no one here that knew her parents personally.   If she were to send a letter in her parent’s writing, there would be no one to question it. The only reports her parents got were her own letters and a biannual report from the headmistress, which she could fake well enough. She had enough money for the entrance fee and boys clothing. Someone might be suspicious a Simmons girl disappeared and a Simmons boy arrived at the Mages’ University, but she was also the heir to the Swilt lands, a very small holding currently owned by a childless great uncle that no one would be familiar with.

It was a crazy idea. She had clearly been reading too many adventure novels. Jemma  _liked_  being a good girl, liked being praised by those around her and approved of by authority figures. She loved her parents and loved their pride in her. She had never done anything worse than swiping a cookie from the kitchens and this would be breaking all sorts of rules. She would have to lie to her parents, lie to everybody. If she was caught, she would be disgraced and kicked out, or perhaps worse. It was a terrible idea.

She thought of that beaver diagram again with its lovely bones and muscles all lain out.  

With a steadying breath, Jemma picked up the quill, which looked overly large in her child sized hands, thought of the letters she had seen in her father’s study, and began to write.

 

**Prologue two**

Jemma scowled at her desk. She could see a curly haired blonde boy with skinny limbs and a pale face shooting her triumphant looks out of the corner of her eye. She scowled harder. She had been a student at the University for three years now under the persona of Jem Swilt. Shortly after arriving at the University she had risen to the very top of the class- or at least she would have if it weren’t for Leo Fitz.

She  _hated_ Fitz. He took every opportunity to rub any mistakes she made in her face. He was always trying to show her up in rune class. Any day could be spoiled by his pale scrawny face. She found herself savoring every higher mark or faster learned spell she achieved. Last year they had let go as far as a prank war. For a week they had both been late to classes, constantly suffering from strangely colored hair or itching powder in their clothes. It had been brought to a rather abrupt end when the Arch Mage had come to visit the student dorms and ended up with a bucket of swamp sap on his head.

The memory still made Jemma’s face burn with shame and anger. Jemma hated disappointing her teachers and was an exemplary student. She took pride in her work and tried to follow all the rules- apart from the matter of her false name and gender. That…  _brat_  had goaded her into a prank war that had nearly gotten them expelled.

It was Fitz’s fault she had missed two of the questions on the Thumology test. Their rooms shared a wall and Fitz had been working on one of his funny little constructs the night before. The sulfur he had been using in the mixture to power the experiment had exploded, leaving a terrible stench that had kept her up all night.

Master Jones flapped his hand at the class, indicating that they were dismissed, and the young men all rushed towards the door. It was a bright, sunny day and everyone was eager to enjoy the good weather. Jemma waved a few of her friends ahead, telling them she would join them in a bit. She had a few things to take care of.

Jemma rushed down the halls towards the empty dorms. She had received a package from home earlier and, with everyone outside, now was the perfect time to open it. She closed the door behind her, practically skipped to her bed, and dragged a crate out from underneath the bed frame.

Leveraging off the lid, she pushed aside the straw and smiled to see the top item in the crate. It was a beautifully bound book with the title “Numar’s Guide to Nocturnal Fungi” on the front. Cracking it open to a random page, she saw several sketches of fungi with cramped but legible handwriting detailing their life cycles. Her parents may not have agreed to send her to the university, but they were still willing to indulge their daughter’s taste in the occasional unlady-like literature.

Underneath the book, she found a small purse with spending money and a mass of pink cloth. Puzzled, she pulled the cloth up out of the crate and gasped. Layers of cloth fell about to form a beautiful, soft pink dress. The fabric was light and gauzy and there were small pearls stitched into the skirt. Jemma had several nice dresses hidden away underneath a false bottom she had built into her trunk, but this dress was gorgeous and far more expensive than any she owned.  Frowning, she set the dress aside and dove back into the crate. After a bit of digging, she came back up triumphantly clutching a note in her hand.

_“My Darling Jemma,_

_We are so very proud of you, our beautiful, mature daughter. You are growing to be quite the young woman and we know you are now old enough that you will be allowed to attend some of the more formal palace affairs. Your Father and I know that you will comport yourself well in the face of admiring young men and feel that you should have a nice ball gown of your own._

_With Love,_

_Mother"_

 

 Jemma smiled sadly, running one finger over a delicate pearl. Day to day, she rarely thought about the depth of the deception she was living. When she had first arrived at the University, she had stumbled about blurting her fictional life story to anyone who would listen. She had lived in constant terror of being caught. After a while, when no one had jumped to “secretly a girl” despite her strange behavior, she had relaxed, too caught up in her new friends and studies to worry. Jemma was still a terrible liar but her life as Jem Swilt had become so much a part of her that it didn’t really seem like a lie.

It had been awkward, this spring, when she had been able to go home to visit her family. She had been overjoyed to see her parents, and they had accepted the fake letter from her former Headmistriss explaining the accident that had lead to her short hair. But she had felt clumsy and boyish at the dinner table, knowing that the books she had read did not make up for the etiquette lessons she should have been living everyday and she had felt uncomfortable in her dresses.

On impulse, Jemma shucked her breeches, shirt, and breast binder and pulled the dress over her head, running her hands down the billowing skirt to put it all into place. It fit perfectly. Experimentally, she gave a little twirl, when she was interrupted by a sound of the door opening.

“Jem, look, I know-“

Startled, Jemma spun to face the speaker, eyes wide. There, one hand on the now open door, stood Fitz, staring at her with equally wide eyes.

Jemma paled. With her breasts bound and a loose shirt, no one gave her a second look. But there was no way anyone would mistake her for being a boy in a dress. Helplessly, she reached out one hand towards him as if to keep him from fleeing.

“I…” She paused, unable to go on. What could she say? There was no explanation she could give, nothing that would make this better.

And why did it have to be Fitz? Fitz who hated her. Fitz who was her rival. If only it had been anyone else. If only it had been one of her friends, maybe she could have persuaded them not to turn her in.

She dropped her hand.

“I suppose that means you’re number one in the class now.” She said with a tremulous smile. She wanted to cry. Three years! Three years she had been undiscovered and now it was all over because she had wanted to try on a dress and had been stupid enough to forget to close the door.

Fitz continued to gape at her for a moment, mouth moving soundlessly. Finally he shook his head and glared at the floor.

“Don’t be stupid. We both know you’re two points ahead in the overall rankings right now.” He scuffed one leg against the floor and then looked up at her. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but you’re too brilliant to be stuck at learning proper curtsies and which fork to use when dining.”

She stared at him dumbly. He wasn’t going to drag her off to the ArchMage?

“Besides,” He added, giving her a crooked grin, “I’m going to beat you to the top rank on my own power. No getting out of it just ‘cause you’re a girl.”

Relief made her knees weak, and she sat down on her bed hard. As the seconds passed, Jemma studied Fitz. There was no deception in his face or voice. He was weird and annoying and the only person in the class with whom she didn’t get along, but he was promising to keep her secret. She wondered, for a moment, if he might let it slip to his friends but as she thought about it she realized she didn’t really remember him hanging out with any of the other boys in the three years since they had gotten here. No one bothered him, but Fitz mostly worked by himself. He was brilliant, but alone: always off building strange machinery and spell constructs. Everyone knew he was going to accomplish great things but

He had said she was brilliant too. She wondered what they might be able to build together.

“Hey.” She said, breaking the odd silence that had fallen ove the room.

He looked at her expectantly.

“I have an amazing idea for Master Grimm’s Arithmacy project, but I’m having a little trouble calculating the right power source. Want to take a look?

He smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma twisted her head about as she walked through the market next to Fitz, trying to look at everything at once. She had never been to a sea town before, and Fort Parvial was renowned as a gathering place for traders from the furthest known kingdoms. The market was in full swing today, with men and wares of every type and color.

She was admiring a particularly bright stall resplendent with colorful silk carpets from the Eastern Isles when she felt someone push her roughly from behind. She stumbled forward, bumping into the chain mail covered shoulder of one of her companions, Sir Grant Ward. The tall knight turned to glare at her in disapproval. Fitz had taken an instant disliking to the rather dour man, and had spent the entire ride to Port Parvail complaining to Jemma about humorless, bloodthirsty knights who thought with their swords. Jemma was still reserving judgment on the admittedly reserved man, but at the moment she was too busy looking for whoever had shoved her to pay him any attention at all. Absently, she flapped one hand at him in apology and peered around. No one in the crowds stood out as the culprit.

Briefly, her eyes settled on a dirty young woman with dark eyes, long brown hair, and a mischievous smile. The girl turned, meeting Jemma’s gaze, and gave her a saucy wink. Jemma blinked in surprise. While she was in the guise of a boy, she hardly thought she made the most handsome of men. When she was fifteen, she had started wearing a glamour to help make her features appear masculine. It was nothing too drastic, the glamour just a strengthening of the jaw here, the impression of an Adam’s apple there: small enough changes the change wouldn’t be obvious if the magic faltered but enough that, at eighteen years of age, everyone accepted “Jem Swilt” as a late bloomer. It helped that her best friend Fitz was actually a late bloomer. With his awkward limbs and young face, her own slight stature and soft features didn’t seem so unlikely.

A moment later, and the girl had disappeared into the crowd. Jemma looked around for a bit longer, but there was no sign of either the perpetrator or the girl so she shrugged and continued following her party towards the Hunting Cat Inn at the edge of the market.

At the Inn, their party leader, Lord Coulson paid two rooms for the party. As the King’s trusted adviser, Coulson could have easily requested rooms at the castle fort overlooking the town, but Coulson had informed them outside of town that they would be taking a low profile during their travels. Over the last year, the Capital had been receiving reports of strange happenings all over the kingdom: tales of strange creatures and men suddenly gaining great strength. While ogres and the like were not unheard of, the barrier between the mortal realms were usually difficult to cross and magical talent required years of training to produce abilities such as had been heard. The king had ordered Coulson to form a team to track down the problems.

And so they were at the local inn, with Fitz, Jemma, and Sir Ward in one room, and Lord Coulson and his right hand woman in another. Melinda May, known as the Calvary, was the final member of their party. She was no knight. Women were no more allowed to train as knights than they were as mages. She was one of Tria’s own: women who had devoted themselves to the Warrior Goddess of Morila. The Warriors of Tria were a strange and fearsome group and May’s own renown made her even more so. While it was not technically shameful to have a daughter devoted to Tria, few people wanted to be associated with the fierce women.

The trio headed to their own room and started unpacking supplies. There had been reports of a large man with fangs and fur and the strength of ten men attacking villagers in the outlying farms. Their current theory was that it was some new form of lycanthropy. The disease hadn’t been seen in Morila in decades, but there were still spells that could detect the disease in the victims human state.

“Jem, have you seen the hawk’s chime? It’s not with the other spell instruments.”

She frowned. Hawk’s chime was vital component for the performing the lycanthropy spells. “Are you sure you packed it? We had to leave behind a lot of instruments and spell components to fit on the horses. Maybe you left it behind when we reprioritized.”

“Yes, I’m bloody sure I packed it! It was the first instrument I cast our tracking and protection spells on.”

Jemma spoke again before Fitz could start on about how this was why a mage belonged in a lab and not working off the back of a horse. “Well if you cast the tracking spell then we should be able to find whoever has taken it.”

Before Fitz could respond, there was a boom from outside the window. They all rushed towards the door, May and Coulson joining them as they headed out through the front of the Inn. Down at the market, people were screaming and running towards them. Further down the street she could see flames. A two story shop was ablaze. In front of the shop, there was an unnaturally large man with a child in one hand and a large burning wooden beam in the other. He had no fur or fangs, but there was something strange about his face and she could make out odd spikes coming down his spine. The three fighters on the team started forward, but Jemma grabbed Wards arm before he could move. He looked down at her impatiently and she pulled three small crossbow bolts from her pocket and pressed them into his hand.

“These will paralyze anything up to a full grown dragon. We only have the three for now.”

He nodded in thanks and ran to join the others in battle. Jemma rushed to join Fitz, who had edged around the street towards the burning building and had begun casting. A quick detection spell confirmed that there were no remaining life forms in the shop and she turned to join Fitz, who had begun a shielding spell to block oxygen from the flame. It was a difficult spell; the area they needed to cover was large and the fire fought them. Behind her she could hear Lord Coulson attempting to reason with the beast behind her. There was the sound of a crossbow string, a curse, and a roar followed by yelling. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the spell before her.

When the last ember had died, Jemma turned to see what was behind her. Lord Coulson and Sir Ward stood in the ruined streets, weary, but unharmed. There was no sign of May or the beast-man. Coulson gestured for them to head towards the inn, ignoring the crowd that had tentatively started to creep back into the market.

They gathered in Lord Coulson’s room, Fitz and Jemma seated on one bed, Lord Coulson on the other, while Ward settled in a chair by the window. Minutes later, May came in, shaking her head at Coulson and leaning against the wall by the door.

“He was faster than human. He escaped over the roofs heading north.” She reported.

Coulson nodded. “We need to plan our next step. He seemed to still have some intelligence. If we can track him down to his home, I believe we can reason with him.”

Ward frowned. “I’m not so sure. He’s not working alone. I didn’t miss that shot by chance: someone shoved me from behind as I was aiming. When I went to grab another of those special bolts, they were gone.”

“The hawk’s chime is gone too.” Fitz said. “We needed it to properly contain him. It was missing when we got to the inn.”

“Someone knocked into Swilt on our way here.” added Ward, glancing at Jemma. “It may have been the same man, taking advantage of his distraction to steal the instrument.”

“It does seem as if we have a thief on our hands,” Coulson said with a nod. “and I think I have some idea of who it is.” He turned to Jemma. “You have a seekers stone for your equipment, right?”

She nodded. “Right! We can follow-“

“I need you and Fitz here to enchant another of your paralyze bolts. We might not be able to recover any of the stolen ones. I have enough magic to use the stone. Ward, you stay here and guard the mages. May and I will track the thief.”

Three hours later, Jemma and Fitz had finished two bolts and a third was soaking in a potion. Ward had sat silently at first, Jemma had the feeling that Ward had not been pleased to be stuck with babysitting duty, but she didn’t know him well enough to tell for sure and he had eventually loosened enough to join their conversation on tall tales from home. Fitz was telling them about the swamp hag that all the children in his hometown had been convinced would eat them if they wandered too far when Coulson walked through the door. Behind him Jemma could see May and someone who was mostly hidden behind the adviser.

“Looks like we’re not going to be having any more problems with losing equipment.” Coulson said, skipping any pleasantries “And we have a lead on the man who has been attacking people.”

“He’s not just attacking people! He’s helping them!” exclaimed an unfamiliar female voice. Coulson stepped to the side to reveal a young woman standing beside May. She was disheveled, and her hands were tied in front of her with May holding the rope. She glared around at everyone and Jemma recognized her instantly: it was the girl who had winked at her at the market.

Coulson smiled. “Meet your new teammate, Skye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too exposition heavy by far and I'm uncertain about this story as a whole


End file.
